


Mismatched

by ForestFiresong



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-09
Updated: 2016-08-21
Packaged: 2018-07-14 02:43:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,022
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7149464
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ForestFiresong/pseuds/ForestFiresong
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Contrary to popular belief, Oikawa Tooru has bad fashion sense. So bad, in fact, that Hajime has taken it upon himself to stop Tooru from wearing anything too embarrassing in public. Even though it turns out to be extra effort, Hajime doesn't really mind it.<br/>Well, at least until Tooru asks him for help getting dressed before a date.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> so after seeing people poking fun at oikawa's bad fashion sense, I had a series of headcanons that turned into a fic idea that turned into this! which was actually meant to be fluffy but turned out angsty. oops. (also it's my first haikyuu!! fic-- not written, but published, of course it's something embarrassing like this)  
> and I mean I may have exaggerated things juuuust a bit...  
> but really that one outfit Oikawa wore was ugly as sin

“Your fashion sense sucks ass.”

“That’s about the rudest thing you’ve ever said me,” Tooru flashes his best (and most ineffective) pout in Hajime’s direction, before plopping down onto his head in a flounce of brown curls, reaching for a pair of ankle length socks-- Hajime thinks he might vomit. “I can’t believe you, Iwa-chan.”

“You’ve heard much worse from me, and I’m prepared to be a lot harsher if you even _think_ of putting socks and sandals together.”

Tooru’s hand slowly retreats from the sandals he had been reaching for before. “You know,” he says, voice a sigh and his whole body gone into a slouch in his best “woe-is-me” position, “I think my fashion sense is fine. It’s definitely you that sucks, Iwa-chan. I mean, I get all the girls, after all, that has to say something.”

“Don’t you even dare say that to me when you mix prints like a colorblind monkey.”

“The slander just never stops!” Tooru flops back on to the bed dramatically, and stares at the ceiling for a few more moments with a pensive expression before sitting back up. “I guess it’s good that I have you to help me, right?”

“Otherwise you wouldn’t be able to go out in public,” Hajime sighs, opening the door to Tooru’s closet. It’s almost become a ritual for them-- they make plans to go somewhere, Tooru shows up wearing something Hajime _cannot_ abide if they plan to be seen together all day, and by the time they actually go where they meant to Tooru looks flawless and it’s all thanks to him.

Honestly, it’s incredible how clueless some people can be when they’re forced to wear a uniform most days of the week.

“Now let’s see if I can actually find something decent…” Hajime mutters, even though he practically knows Tooru’s whole wardrobe already; as a result of spending all of his money on volleyball equipment, he has barely bought anything for himself, and his attire consists of nondescript articles of clothing given by relatives on holidays and his brother’s hand-me-downs which should _definitely_ be thrown out by now. “Listen, Shittykawa, I can’t dress you forever, so you’re going to need to learn some fashion sense eventually.”

“You know what, I don’t even need you, my beautiful face will do everything for me.”

“Sure,” Hajime scoffs, even though it’s true Tooru is in possession of an unreasonable amount of charisma and only years of being hardened to his incessant bullshit has left him immune. A regular person wouldn’t stand a chance, ugly mismatched clothes and all. And honestly, sometimes he even wavers to that ridiculous charm. He pulls out a respectable white t-shirt. “Here, put this on.”

Tooru catches it easily and begins to change, pouting all the while. “Going out with you is an ordeal, Iwa-chan. None of our other friends make me change whenever they don’t like my outfit.”

“That’s because they like to make fun of you.” Hajime kicks the socks and sandals under Tooru’s bed, where they will hopefully be lost forever. He’s starting to think that Tooru really should be forced to live in his uniform or volleyball clothes. “I’m trying to salvage your reputation. Anyways, hurry up so we can get going.”

Tooru doesn’t protest, for once, and Hajime lets out a sigh. Sometimes he swears Tooru does this just to antagonize him.  
But then again, he’s got to be some kind of masochist for how much he doesn’t mind it.

* * *

 

This is what deja vu must feel like.

Hajime surveys the room-- it’s like every other time where he tries to find a respectable outfit for Tooru to wear. He takes in Tooru perched on the bed, discarded clothes on the floor, and the open closet door in front of him, beckoning him, and realizes that he’s seen this scene before. Many times, actually.

Except this time, things are different.

For one, Tooru isn’t spread out across the bed, and instead, sits at rapt attention; Hajime can almost detect a tremor of nervousness running through his hands and up and down his legs, though he’d never admit it. It’s evening, the streetlights blinking on outside of Tooru’s window and the corners of the room becoming shrouded in shadow as Hajime stands there and stares, mind almost entirely blank for once. This time, he’s more aware, and this time, he can feel his heartbeat, almost stuttering with pain across his chest.

This time, Hajime knows he’s in love with Tooru and this time, Tooru is going on a date with someone else.

“Thanks for helping me, Iwa-chan,” he speaks from the bed, and Hajime glances over at him. That was nervousness in Tooru’s voice, he can tell.

“It’s not like you to be so appreciative,” Hajime replies, and Tooru laughs. It’s so light and airy that it sounds like goddamn windchimes. Hajime scowls slightly, as he pictures a sing-song voice telling him, “Envy is not a befitting emotion!”

As if he doesn’t already know that.

“I’m not that horrible, you know.” Tooru says. “You’ve helped me a lot, so it’s only fitting for me to say thank you! ….but just this once.”

“Of course.” Hajime sighs. When Tooru had asked him over to help him pick out something to wear, he hadn’t thought much of it, at least until he revealed that he had a date with a girl from another class and Hajime had felt the air being sucked out of his lungs. It’s not so bad, he figures, when he never would’ve made the first move anyway and this was inevitable but _still_ \--

He pauses as his hand brushes over something different in Tooru’s closet. “Is this new?”

Tooru peers around him. “Yeah, my brother got it for me. I haven’t worn it yet, though.”

“Might as well.” Hajime tosses it at him. It’s a relatively simple long-sleeved shirt but it’s a safe choice and Tooru will look good in it. He tries to swallow a lump in his throat for thinking that. “And some jeans, and…”

He waits, sitting on the bed, in this room almost as familiar as his own, while Tooru goes into the bathroom to change and primp, as he is so prone to doing, and tries to get it together. Even though Hajime’s pretty sure he hasn’t had it together for months now. But any chance at calm is worth a shot.

The bathroom door creaks open and Tooru emerges, brushing back his hair and striking a ridiculous pose. “How do I look?”  
There went his chance at calm.

Hajime turns and stares at him and he can’t stop staring, even though that _weird_ and even though he should look away, because he did a good job this time, and that shirt really does suit Tooru ( _even though it’s_ just a shirt, _jesus you’re in deep_ ) and even a quick glance allows him to take in all the little things. Things like how he must’ve tried to brush his hair but in the end gave up and allowed to stay in its usual waves, and the slight wafting of cologne that he’ll sometimes wear to school randomly, and how his socks actually aren’t mismatched this time.

He would give a million dollars to be the girl on that date but probably twice as much to just not exist and have to deal with any feelings at all.

The word “beautiful” stutters on Hajime’s tongue, along with “asshole”, but he finally settles on “I guess you look okay,” turns away, and “but your personality is still intolerable anyway.”

“That’s pretty hypocritical, Iwa-chan,” Tooru comments, sitting on the bed next to him. Hajime tries not to take in his cologne even though every nerve in his body is doing it’s best to remember it. “And there’s no need to be bitter, maybe one day we can go on double dates! But anyways, I have some time left, so do you want to--”

“Actually,” says Hajime, rising from the bed because he’s had about all that he can take in the way of mental anguish for one day and is longing for sleep and relief at this point. “I should probably go. I think my mom needs me for something.”

Tooru frowns. “Are you sure?” he asks and at Hajime’s nod, lets out a sigh. It would be the opportune time for a jab or a scathing remark but Tooru appears to be gauging Hajime’s mood as he gives a little wave. “Well, I won’t stop you then.”

“All right,” Hajime gets up, and thinking maybe he should do more than just trudge out in silence, turns back and says, trying to muster up as much sincerity as possible, “and have fun on your date. God knows the girl will need it.”

“Whatever you say,” Tooru responds airily, and then pauses momentarily before looking up and adding, in a tone more earnest than Hajime has ever heard it, “But really, thank you for everything, Hajime.”

He can barely work out an incoherent mutter before dashing for the stairs. Above all things, he regrets that today of all days Tooru decided not to be a dick, or at least less so than usual, and instead chose to be actually grateful-- in a time where Hajime _really_ needs an excuse to hate him.

By the time he’s meandering through the darkening streets, with the glow emanating from Tooru’s window growing fainter and fainter with each step, he’s trying to figure out how things ended up this way. And so eventually he concludes that it most definitely started with Tooru’s absolutely awful fashion sense.

But even now Hajime knows that he can’t berate Tooru over his taste in clothes given his own terrible taste in crushes.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> here's part 2! i said i would make them happy and i did. tbh i can't leave things sad, i just can't...  
> anyways this is embarrassingly cheesy but w/e, thank you for reading and i hope everybody enjoys~

Tooru has made a mistake.  


He's not quite sure exactly what his mistake is, or when he made it, but he just knows that somehow, somewhere along the line, he screwed up.  


It's about Hajime.  


With the finely tuned senses that come only from such a long standing relationship, Tooru can detect even the slightest changes in Hajime’s demeanor (which may also be an offshoot of his tendency to over analyze people but that's irrelevant anyways). And this is a large change. He's more distant than usual, but even worse than that, he seems to lack the ability to get truly irritated at Tooru, which is incredibly worrying in itself. Tooru has even taken to acting deliberately stupid to coax a reaction out of him, but all Hajime can muster is indignation with no spirit behind it-- which indicates something is wrong and it's probably all Tooru’s fault.  


After all, he never thought he'd see the day where Hajime didn't have an insult primed and ready to go at even the slightest infraction, but it appears the end days are upon them after all.  


The worst part is, Tooru can't even figure out what happened, and he can't find it in himself to ask, so it seems they're stuck on this bullshit miscommunication ride until someone finally cracks. In desperation he wonders if he asked Hajime for fashion advice too often; he probably got annoyed with it after awhile, and maybe that's finally reflecting in his actions.  


Honestly, it's as likely an answer as any, more so because Hajime has essentially been Tooru’s fashion crutch since he insisted on playing stylist all those months ago. Tooru used to berate him for being so critical of his (perfectly fine) fashion choices, but he admits that Hajime has a skill and has been reliant on it ever since.  


If _that_ is the root of the problem, then Tooru decides to limit himself in the future; it was just with his most recent date that he _really_ needed help. It was just, well, she was a really pretty girl, top of her class, and first dates breed important first impressions and Tooru needed all the help he could get.  


But as it stands, there might not actually be a second date between the two of them. The date had been fun, and she was nice, but it had ended with a mutual agreement that he was too busy with volleyball and she with her studies. He should feel sad about it, but they’d had a good time and there were no bitter feelings on either end so he can conclude that it was only for the best. Also, the part about volleyball was only a half-truth on Tooru’s part, one even he can't figure out; due to some part of him just feeling wrong about dating her, for no other reason than a vague feeling of discomfort.  


It feels like he's waiting for someone else.  


And it's frustrating and Tooru would ask Hajime for advice, if he wasn't being so annoyingly distant.  


So Tooru decides he has no choice but to get to the bottom of things. 

 

He gets to the bottom of things.  


More specifically, he collides headfirst into rock bottom at 2 a.m. while sitting up in bed contemplating why the idea of dating someone else makes him feel so strange.  


He's in love.  


And not with the pretty girl at the top of her class, or the girls’ volleyball team captain, or the movie star every boy in his class has a crush on.  
He's in love with Hajime. His best friend.  


It's such a cliched trope it'd be funny if it weren't such a mess, such an awful mess, especially because Tooru's starting to realize why Hajime is being so avoidant now.  


It probably would’ve benefited him to be a little more subtle.  


But now there’s no going back, and the only option is to be forward instead.

 

“Iwa-chaaaan,” Tooru calls, bag swinging against his side as he shuts the door and waves at Hajime’s mom in the kitchen. “I’ve got something for you!”  
Hajime appears at the top of the stairs. “Why do you keep coming to my house completely unannounced?”  


“This isn’t anything new!” Tooru calls back. “Besides, you love having me here, you know you do.”  


“You’re always welcome in our home, Tooru-kun,” Hajime’s mom says with a smile. “After knowing you so long you’re practically part of our family!”  


Tooru grins because that settles it, and all Hajime can do is grumble and retreat into his room. Tooru skips up the stairs after him, bag swinging from his hand and a smile stretched across his face.  


“Why are you so cheerful, it’s annoying,” Hajime says, sitting himself on the bed as Tooru bursts through the door, immediately making himself at home.  


“I don’t know, maybe it’s because I have a boyfriend now,” Tooru replies, using his most effective sing-song voice. Hajime rolls his eyes, but Tooru can tell that he’s about to smile; the way he averts his gaze and scrunches up the corner of his eyes, something he’s been doing for years.  


It was in this very room that they became ‘boyfriends’-- or more, where Tooru almost lost his shit in a half-confession, half-plea when he just couldn’t stand it anymore. He was more blubbery than he’d ever admit, mostly because he’d thought he was going to be rejected, not just as a potential date but also a best friend, and the thought made him panicky.  


For as conniving and intuitive as people believe him to be, Tooru never would’ve guessed in a million years that Hajime had felt the same way.  


More specifically, he never would’ve attributed his sudden distance to Tooru seemingly scoring a girlfriend-- but it makes so much sense in hindsight, everything makes sense in hindsight, and Tooru really thinks that they were made to be together, with so many years to prove it.  


“Anyways, I have something for you!” Tooru holds up the bag and Hajime furrows his eyebrows.  


“It’s not anything weird, is it?”  


“Of course not, why would you think that?”  


Hajime gestures wordlessly to a neon pencil container shaped like an alien head sitting on his desk, and Tooru shrugs, convinced of his good taste even now.  


“No, it’s more like… well, it’s a symbol of gratitude.” Tooru rustles through the bag, tosses its contents onto Hajime’s bed. He grins. “Do you like it?”  


Sitting between them is the single greatest achievement of Tooru’s life. It’s a collared shirt, plaid in the front and striped in the back, with some English words emblazoned across the front. He found it at a thrift shop while shopping with his brother and he knew Hajime would love it. It has plaid, which he looks good in, and stripes of his favorite color and there’s English and English is cool and who could resist such a thoughtful present?  


As it turns out, Hajime could, because he’s staring down at the shirt with a expression both vaguely confused and mildly disgusted.  


“It’s, uh… it’s…” the insults run dry for once. “...it’s very interesting.”  


“I think you should wear it on our first date!”  


Hajime’s head jerks up. “There is _no way_ I would ever--”  


“Please?” Tooru says. “I did pick it out just for you, after all…”  


Hajime scrunches up his face in an expression of great pain, but Tooru knows that he’s already won.  


“Fine.” Hajime concedes. “But when we get married, I get to pick out everything.”  


“...what?”  


This is monumental. Tooru would be gloating right now because _Hajime said he wanted to marry me_ if he wasn’t so completely shocked. He’s pretty sure Hajime feels the same way because his mouth is hanging open on the edge of a sentence he’ll probably regret.  


“ _If_ we get married!” he quickly regrets himself, face bright red and the damage already done. Tooru weighs his options; he’ll be able to tease Hajime about this for _at least_ another month now, and he might as well get a head start.  


But at the same time, he might as well take what he can get.  


“You know what?” Tooru says. Both of them are bright red with embarrassment, but the good kind, the kind that makes your chest lighter and laughing easier. “I think that sounds great.”


End file.
